


who's scruffy looking?

by twilightstargazer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, What else is new, bearded! Bellamy, clarke is thirsty for bellamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 09:59:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10851636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/pseuds/twilightstargazer
Summary: “What, the beard isn’t doing it for you?” she snickers at her own joke and then her jaw drops when Clarke averts her gaze, blushing. “Oh my god! You’re totally into his shitty beard!”“Keep your voice down!” she hisses at her.





	who's scruffy looking?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prosciutto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosciutto/gifts).



> *walks in 5 days late with [beard related](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com/post/160316647072/crackshipforya-bob-morley-calgary-expo) blarke sex and starbucks* happy birthday you furry loving fuck

As with most things, Raven is partially to blame.

(“I don’t understand why you’re also blaming  _ me _ ,” mutters Miller mulishly, “ _ She’s _ the one who made the bet with him. I had nothing to do with their bullshit ideas.”

“You spurred them on,” says Clarke, and he rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it.)

It starts when Miller returns from vacationing with his dad up in the mountains sporting a full beard.

His beard isn’t really anything new to them- normally he just errs on the side of scruffy, but has been known to grow it out once in a while, especially back when they were in college- so there’s just the general ribbing and maybe one or two pointed comments dropped by Monty before they ignore it.

And then Bellamy gets drunk.

Bellamy doesn’t usually get drunk when they go out; in fact he’s usually the one still annoyingly sober while they do stupid shit like climbing up on the tables or trying to rewire the jukebox. But it is the start of summer break and all his AP students passed their exams so if there was an occasion for overdoing the celebratory drinking, this would be it.

Drunken Bellamy is even sort of cute, far more tactile and vocal about his affection. Which is why it’s no surprise that as the night wears on, they find him gently stroking Miller’s cheek murmuring all sorts of nonsense while Miller looks three seconds away from throttling him. Clarke sneaks a picture. She’s totally going to use this in a mood board when his birthday comes around.

“I’m so jealous of your beard,” he slurs, just a little, and Miller slaps his fingers away. “I’ve always wanted a beard.”

“I don’t know if you’ve realised this,” says Raven, dropping in from seemingly out of nowhere, “But you’ve got all the components you need to grow a beard, Blake.”

Miller snorts at the exact same moment Bellamy’s face falls. “Yeah, no. Theoretically he might have them but trust me on this. Blake is as bare faced as they come.”

Raven’s eyes practically light up at that and her head snaps back to look at him. “You can’t grow a beard?” she asks delightedly.

“Of course I can grow a beard,” he grumbles.

“Then how come we’ve never seen you with one?”

“Because it’s  _ uncomfortable _ .”

“Uh huh, sure. That’s why.” She lifts an eyebrow. “I bet you can’t grow a full beard like Miller’s before the month’s up.”

“Easiest fucking bet you’ve ever made, Reyes,” says Miller, and Bellamy elbows him in the ribs.

“I can totally grow a beard in the next three weeks,” he protests. “I don’t need to prove that to you.”

“Methinks the man doth protests too much,” she says in a sing-song voice, and his scowl deepens.

“I’m not protesting. And that’s not the quote.”

“Come on,” she wheedles, “Fifty bucks says you can’t.”

He glowers at her for one last moment before finally caving. “Fine,” he sighs, sticking his hand out for her to shake. She does so rather enthusiastically and Clarke already knows that this is going to be a disaster. “I’ll take your stupid bet.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” she says the next morning, after Bellamy manages to pry himself off the bed. She slides him a plate of pancakes and greasy bacon and he grunts his thanks. Honestly, he looks positively atrocious what with his hair sticking up every which way, the purple bruises behind his clunky glasses, and the barest bit of stubble across his cheeks.

This shouldn’t make her want to crawl in his lap and kiss him senseless, but, alas, it does. It’s becoming a bit of a problem if she’s being honest, this whole attraction thing.

“I can’t believe you actually made me breakfast,” he says after scarfing down his half his plate. “This is a new level of bribery. How many eggshells did you get in the pancake batter? Be honest.”

She jabs him in the thigh with her sock clad toes. “None I’ll have you know,” she sniffs. There’s a brief pause before she adds, “I used the pack mix.”

He barks out a laugh and she kicks him again.

“Seriously, I can’t believe you made a bet with Raven about _ facial hair _ ,” she says a bit later, when they’re cleaning up.

Bellamy pouts. “I can’t believe my own  _ best friend _ doesn’t have faith in me.”

She hitches an eyebrow, side eyeing him. “Look I’m not doubting your ability to grow a beard,” she rolls her eyes, “As far as masculinity contests go, this is pretty tame by Raven’s standards.”

“It’s because she’s seen my dick already,” he says mildly, taking the dishcloth from her and drying out the remaining pieces of cutlery. He flashes her an impish smirk. “She knows just how…  _ masculine  _ I am.”

It’s far too early for him to be saying things like that and making her think about the size of his dick. It’s not fair at  _ all _ . She kinda wants to punch him and make out with him at the same time.

“That’s gross and I don’t want to know things like that,” she lies, and blows a handful of soapsuds directly at his face.

“You’re the one who brought it up,” he grumbles, wiping his cheek on the dish towel before swatting her with it.

“I brought up the beard thing,” she corrects, “You’re the one who brought your dick into it.”

“Oh,  _ so  _ many innuendos.”

“ _ Bellamy _ ,” she huffs, even as a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. He flashes her a lopsided grin in return and she can’t help but mimic it. “Really, how do you plan on winning this? You get antsy at the feel of stubble.”

“I can grow a beard,” he says firmly. “And when I win, you and I are gonna use that fifty bucks to go to that sushi place you like downtown.”

“Or, plot twist, you forfeit the bet, give Raven the fifty, and shave. We can order a pizza and I’ll let you choose the documentary of your choice.”

“We can do that the day after I win,” he promises, and Clarke groans.

“You’re a stubborn jackass, you know that?”

He drops a quick, casual kiss to the top of her head, so easy that it makes her heart squeeze. “Yeah, but you like me anyway.”

Her smile is softer this time, warmth blooming in the centre of her chest, and she ducks her head. “Yeah, unfortunately I do.”

 

* * *

 

 

A week passes and Bellamy still doesn’t shave.

It still looks like stubble, just a bit longer and scruffier and it’s definitely patchier than she thought it would be, but she doesn’t have any time to really think about that, not when her brain is too busy being horrified in a ‘oh no he’s really doing this’ sort of way.

And also maybe in a ‘oh no he’s hot’ kind of way too, but frankly, she’s not even ready to touch that as yet.

He doesn’t seem particularly bothered by it- at least, not when Clarke is around. Since school is out he’s usually left up to his own devices in their apartment most days, and she knows for a fact that he spends them playing video games and trying to binge watch various Netflix series.

“This is terrible,” she tells him, gaping when he actually  _ strokes  _ it like some sort of supervillain while filling out a crossword. “You can’t possibly  _ like  _ this, can you?”

He looks up at her, eyes glinting while a smirk slowly unfurls across his lips. “I dunno. I think it’s  _ growing on me _ .”

She groans at lame pun and stomps out of the apartment, his laughter trailing behind her. “I’m going to shave you in your sleep!” she shouts at him as she slams the door shut.

Raven is already there at the agreed upon restaurant for lunch, scrolling aimlessly through her phone, and Clarke throws herself into the vacant chair with a huff.

“This is all your fault,” she snaps, shrugging off her coat, foregoing greeting.

“What is my fault?” she asks, barely looking up from her phone.

“ _ Bellamy _ .”

“Oh please,” scoffs Raven, still scrolling, “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s,” she splutters for a second, searching for the right word. Finally after a moment of indecision she settles on, “He’s  _ furry _ .”

She looks up, face thoroughly unimpressed. “And? You  _ like  _ furry.”

“I do  _ not _ .”

“Fine then. You like  _ Bellamy _ .”

“I-” There really is no way to deny it, so Clarke just settles on glaring at her. “I hate you.”

“That’s not a no,” she singsongs, putting away her phone as their waiter brings out their drinks. “Actually, you know what? I’m glad it’s not a no. It means you’re growing as a person and embracing the fact that you’re hopelessly in love with him.”

“I’m not in love with him,” she rolls her eyes, cheeks warming. “I just have a tiny crush on him. A small, inconsequential crush.”

One that makes her chest hurt every time he smiles at her or casually puts his arm around her shoulders when they go out. One that cause her heart to stutter every time he shows the barest bit of affection towards her, whether it be the easy cheek kisses or sending her stupid baby animal videos because he knows how much she loves them.

Of course, she’s not going to tell Raven  _ that _ .

Instead she she just takes a healthy sip of her mimosa and pretends to skim through the menu, saying, “You should forfeit the bet though.”

“Right, and let Bellamy win?” she scoffs. “Not a chance in hell.”

“I can get him to forfeit too,” she shoots back, “Just… just end things and let him shave. Most days when I come home I have to make sure it’s him and not some weird homeless person who snuck on to our couch.”

“What, the beard isn’t doing it for you?” she snickers at her own joke and then her jaw drops when Clarke averts her gaze, blushing. “Oh my god! You’re totally into his shitty beard!”

“Keep your voice down!” she hisses at her, glancing at the other patrons dining alongside them. No one has seemed to notice Raven’s odd outburst, but she’s started laughing again, this time harder than before and it’s only a matter of time before they start getting weird looks in their direction. Clarke wonders if it would be possible to choke her with a soup spoon.

“I can’t believe you’re into his terrible attempts at facial hair,” she snorts. “Now I really know you’re in love with him.”

“ _ Raven _ .”

“What? It’s true. I’ll admit that Blake is definitely a pretty boy on his good days, but that thing sends his good looks down a few points. You must really be head over ass for him to still be swooning.”

“You are a terrible, terrible person,” she tells her, right as their appetizers come.

She just leans over and steals a cherry tomato from her plate, flashing her a shark like grin. “Whatever. At least I’m not the one with a beard kink.”

 

* * *

 

 

Another week passes and Bellamy still doesn’t shave his beard.

It’s still patchy and objectively terrible, and it reminds her of those douchey frat boys from college who never used to wear anything but muscle tanks and shorts, but Clarke can’t decide if she’s happy they’re into the final week of the world’s most stupid bet, or upset that it’s ending soon.

(There might have been  _ some  _ truth behind Raven’s statement.)

In her defence, it’s not like she  _ knew _ . She’s still not sure if this qualifies as a general thing or a ‘stupid on everyone but Bellamy’ thing. 

She’s always been conscious of her reactions towards him, trying not to show too much of a reaction whenever he touches her, but now she can’t help the small shiver that runs down her spine at the rasp of stubble against her skin when he presses a kiss to her cheek or forehead. She also can’t help but imagine what that would feel like rubbing  _ elsewhere  _ on her body.

It doesn’t help that the beard thing acts in tandem with the whole ‘Bellamy on break’ vibe that  _ also  _ really does it for her. During the school term he’s all cool professionalism, dress shirts and ties and semi neat hair which, yeah, that’s nice because she thinks about ways she can get him to break that composure, but when he’s on break, it’s another story entirely.

This Bellamy wears his glasses instead of contacts, and seems to throw away all his combs as soon as the final bell rings. He grows out his hair until it’s shaggy and covers his ears while wearing sweats and too tight, too thin t shirts that remind her just how stupidly ripped her best friend is.

(It’s also a bad thing that he’s home so often now, because that means she can’t ah…  _ do  _ anything about it without the fear of getting caught.)

If it was possible to die from sexual frustration, Clarke would have been six feet under by now.

“This is all your fault,” she tells Raven on the phone one night.

He’s not home for once, instead at the store since they ran out of milk and neither of them remembered to pick it up last time they bought groceries.

“I could have just lived blissfully unaware with only a mild amount of frustration, but  _ no _ ,” she groans, “You just had to make that bet with Bellamy.”

“Honestly, if this bet manages to get you two to pull your heads out of your asses and jump each other, then it would have been worth it,” she replies, and then hangs up while Clarke is still spluttering on the other end, because all her friends are  _ assholes _ .

In the end, she decides that the best thing for her to do is to try her best to avoid Bellamy until the bet is over. It’s only six more days; she’s pretty sure she can do that without raising too much suspicion.

And it works… 

… until the fourth day when she has the day off.

She planned it out last night; she’ll get up right as he leaves for his morning run and then by the time he comes back she should be ready to go. Clarke has managed to convince herself that since it’s the start of summer she’s due for a wardrobe overhaul. She’ll be spending the day at the mall away from Bellamy and his stupid beard and stupid muscles and stupid smirk.

At least, that was the initial plan.

Instead, she wakes up late and burns her finger on the coffee machine while trying to brew a fresh pot, and Bellamy walks in, all sweaty and gorgeous, while she keeps up a steady stream of swears as she runs cold water over it.

“Are you alright?” he asks, frowning.

“Just fucking peachy,” she snaps and shuts off the water, slipping her finger in her mouth to suck on.

He continues to stare at her, eyes clouded in confusion, and she sighs. “I just burnt my finger. It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.”

“There’s burn cream in the first aid kit,” he says before grabbing the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. It gives her a good look at his abs and she has to bite back a groan because  _ of course _ . The universe just loves to taunt her.

“No, no, it’s fine,” she waves him off, turning away so she wouldn’t have to look at him much longer. “It’s minor.”

“Okay.” He still sounds unsure, and when she glances at him from the corner of her eye, he’s frowning at her the same way he does when he comes across a particularly hard crossword puzzle.

“What?”

He jerks slightly, dropping his eyes. “Nothing,” he says, reaching into the fridge and grabbing his nalgene. She always tells him to take it with him when he runs lest he gets dehydrated and he always forgets it in the fridge. “It’s just- is everything okay?”

She frowns at him, stirring sugar into her coffee. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been kind of distant lately.”

“Oh, I didn’t realise,” she says lightly, not meeting his eyes.

Bellamy sidles up next to her and bumps his hip into hers. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Shut up.”

“It’s the beard isn’t it?” he continues, and she almost chokes on her coffee. “It’s made me so unattractive that you can’t bear to be in the same room with me anymore, huh?”

It’s definitely the opposite but she’s not about to tell him that. Instead she pats his shoulder and says, “You can rest assured that the beard didn’t do too much damage to your pretty boy rep.”

“Well so long as it’s not too  _ much _ ,” he teases, and she shoves him away.

He refills the nalgene and slips it back on the fridge door before taking out a crate of eggs for breakfast. Clarke sighs internally and grabs another mug, pouring a cup for him too. There’s no way that she could escape to her room now, not when he’s already cracking eggs and whisking them up for two.

When she’s digging around the fridge for the half of avocado she could have sworn she put back in here last night, he asks, “So do  _ you  _ like the beard?”

She almost drops the stick of butter she’s holding in her hands.

“Um,” she says, “It’s nice I guess.”

He hums in response and sprinkles a bit of cheese on the eggs he has sizzling in the pan. “Do you think I should continue to let it grow after I win this thing with Raven on Saturday?”

“ _ No _ ,” she answers before he’s even finished speaking.

Bellamy glances at her, a faint pout on his lips. “So you  _ don’t  _ like the beard.”

She takes a deep breath. “I like it, I just think it should be a, you know, one time thing.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Trust me,” she mutters under her breath, passing him the plates, “It makes perfect sense to me.”

“Right.”

“Shut up and give me my eggs.”

They eat breakfast with no further mention of his beard and Clarke’s feelings towards it, and after he helps her clear up, he disappears, presumably to take a shower while Clarke does the dishes.

Saturday can’t come fast enough, she thinks as she lets the sink fill up with warm soapy water. Once this whole bet thing is over things can go back to normal where she’s just pining for him and not wondering how his head would feel between her thighs like this. She quickly pushes that thought out of her mind and focuses on the task at her hand. She’s so busy furiously scrubbing a stain on the plate that she doesn’t notice Bellamy walk back in until he’s right behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder.

“You know,” he says, ignoring her squeak and the water that sloshes out onto the floor, “I thought you were ignoring me because you really hated the beard.”

“I just told you that that’s not true,” she says, her voice wavering only just a bit.

“I know,” he nods, and his beard drags against her skin, making her bite her lip to stop from whimpering. “I think you like it.”

“Again, I just told you that,” she says, feeling her heartbeat pick up.

“No Clarke,” he says, and deliberately rubs against the sensitive skin behind her ear. This time she can’t hold back the shiver that makes its way down her spine and there’s no doubt in her mind that he notices, pressed up against her like that. “I think you really, really  _ like  _ it.”

He presses a featherlight kiss- a question more than anything else- to the junction of her neck and shoulder. When she doesn’t stop him, he continues, pressing small kisses up the side of her neck as her breath comes in rapid pants, coarse hair dragging along her skin. The tiny pricks of pain fan an entirely new kind of heat within her, and she finds herself grasping the edge of the counter, knuckles bone white.

The last of her resolve crumbles away when he latches onto her pulse point and sucks lightly, and Clarke purrs, turning around to kiss him proper.

He’s smirking when she pulls his head down, lips sliding over each other, but it doesn’t last long, not when she holds his face between her still wet palms and nibbles gently on his bottom lip. The kiss is hot and slow and deep, surprisingly gentle in a way she doesn’t expect, and she can feel his beard abrading her skin, but she doesn’t find herself caring. Instead, she lets one hand creep up the back of his head and twines her fingers in his hair, anchoring him to her.

“You’re such a dick,” she breathes when they finally part, and he laughs, pressing his face into the crook of her neck.

“I don’t think that’s how dirty talk works,” he murmurs, hands flexing against her hips. “Try using some other words before ‘dick’ and you might get it right.”

She cuffs his shoulder lightly, even though her smile is absolutely ridiculous. “You’re a  _ huge  _ dick.”

“Still not the right words,” he hums, one hand disappearing up her shirt to press into the small of her back. “Maybe I should show you how it’s done.”

He pulls back to look at her, eyes dark, and another shiver rolls through her. “I’m not protesting,” she says, voice pitched low, and his responding grin is wicked in a way that makes her tummy twist.

“Good,” he says before leaning back in and kissing her, hot and dirty.

She’s breathless by the time he pulls away, but he doesn’t go far, instead pressing sucking kisses down the column of her neck. He doesn’t stop so he can strip her of her tanktop, instead he sucks on one breast through the thin material while he palms the other before switching to repeat the motion on it’s twin, and she moans with it, loud and unashamed.

He continues his path down her sternum, leaving the material damp and sticking against her skin, and when it gets too uncomfortable for him to hunch over, he grabs her hips, lifting her onto the counter.

She squeaks at the sudden movement, and he kisses her again to make up for it.

“A little warning might be nice next time,” she grouses, tapping his jaw.

He grabs her hand before she can pull it away and presses a kiss to the tips of her fingers, surprisingly sweet. “I’ll keep it in mind,” he says, and then drops to his knees and making her breath catch.

Her fingers tangle in his hair on their own accord, and Bellamy kisses her kneecap before skimming up her body. This time he tugs up her shirt up a little bit so that he could press little open mouthed kisses to her belly while he rubs his fingers in the crease where her hip meets her thigh. It’s not exactly where she wants him, and she keeps on trying to tilt her hips to get him there, but his grip remains steady, edging her anticipation higher and higher. Clarke’s muscles quiver when he presses a kiss to her core, and his name might have slipped past her lips in some variant of plea.

Bellamy pulls back and looks up at her, eyes dark and wanting, and skin flushed a nice rose colour. She can’t help but think that he makes for a pretty picture like this; on his knees before her, staring at her as though she’s the only thing he can see at the moment.

“Warning, I am about to go down on you,” he snarks, and she swats his shoulder.

“Ass.”

“You asked for a warning!” He rubs his cheek against her thigh, hands curling into the waistband of her sleep shorts. “Besides, you like me,” he says, and then tugs both her shorts and panties off in one fluid movement, leaving her bare for him. He rubs his thumb gently along her slit, spreading the moisture around and looks up at her, smirking. “You  _ really  _ like me.”

She thinks about kicking him but then he finally puts his mouth on her and all coherent thought flies out of her head.

Clarke has thought about this for an embarrassingly long time, conjuring up every scenario. If he would be fast and unrelentless, getting her off so many times she can’t see straight, or if he would take his time, gentle touches that build it up until she’s shaking. She always used to assume that Bellamy would be good at head, and it’s nice to have that validated.

“Fuck,” she breathes as his tongue drags determinedly against her. He hitched her legs over his shoulders and now every time he moves she can feel the biting rasp of facial hair against her over sensitive skin, making her gasp.

It hurts a little, but it’s the good kind of hurt. The kind that comes with fingertip shaped bruises against someone’s hips, or scratches down a back.

“Good?” he asks, sounding far too smug, and she presses her heel into his back.

“Better if you would  _ shut up _ ,” she says, voice hitching when he lets his teeth graze over her clit.

He rubs his chin against her inner thigh again, deliberate. “Bossy,” he says, but he must listen to her as he doesn’t say anything else, just continues licking and sucking and rubbing and  _ smirking  _ while she babbles incoherently above him. 

He’s such a fucking smug asshole, but he’s a fucking smug asshole who knows what he’s doing because soon enough she’s writhing with the need to come, just a chant of Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy, falling from her lips until he takes her clit into his mouth and sucks, sending the world around her shattering as she rides it out, his tongue slowly bringing her back down with little kitten licks, rubbing a soothing palm over her hip.

“Good?” he asks again, and she rolls her eyes, even as she remains half slumped on the counter and panting. She can practically  _ see  _ his ego inflating in size.

“You know what you’re doing I guess,” she says grudgingly, as though he didn’t just make her scream out in their kitchen.

“I’ll take it,” he snorts, wiping his face on the back of his hand as he stands up.

Her legs lock around his waist before he can get too far, and pulls him towards her. He comes willingly, still smirking, and she kisses him, sloppy and little a messy, but he seems to get the gist of it.

“Your beard is still really dumb,” she whispers, taking his earlobe between her teeth and tugging.

“Funny, you weren’t complaining about it just now,” he says, his hand trailing down her buddy to tweak her clit. It causes her to twitch and she sinks blunt teeth into into his neck.

“No I wasn’t,” she allows, before cupping him in her hand, hard and warm through the fabric of his running pants. “Now why don’t we take this somewhere else?” she says, voice husky, and she punctuates her sentence with a roll of her hips that leaves him groaning.

She does it again when he lifts her, delighting in the way he groans and how his hands spasms against her, and he almost walks them into a wall.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he tell her, panting harshly when she pushes him down on the bed and straddles his hips.

Clarke kisses him again, soft and sweet, completely at odds in the way she was just manhandling him. “Hopefully not too soon though,” she grins, shoving his shirt up. “There are things I wanna do with you first.”

This time when he groans she’s right there to lick the taste of it out of his mouth.

 

* * *

 

They meet up with Raven and they on Saturday, just as planned, and she  _ cackles  _ when she spots their linked hands.

“I knew this had to be why you stopped texting me how much you wanted die because of his beard,” she says, poking Clarke’s shoulder.

The other girl just sniffs, lifting her chin. “I could have just been busy doing other things, you know. Not everything has to do with Bellamy.”

He manages to smother a laugh next to her. “So my name is ‘ _ other things _ ’ now?” he murmurs, just low enough for her alone to hear, and she kicks him for good measure.

Okay, so maybe Raven was right. They were just taking advantage of the time before he had to shave it off. She has beard burn across her chest and stomach and thighs to prove it. Hell, she was a wearing a  _ sundress  _ tonight because her skin still felt way too tender to squeeze into jeans. No one is going to believe her.

In an uncharacteristic show of good faith, Raven lets it go, instead pulling a crisp fifty dollar bill from her wallet and handing it over to Bellamy.

“I guess technically you win with that sad excuse of a beard,” she sighs. “Use it to take your girlfriend somewhere nice.”

He pockets it and slings his arm around Clarke’s shoulders. “Will do,” he says.

“As long as you shave first,” she pipes up, and Bellamy snorts, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Whatever you want,” he promises, and she links their hands together beneath the table.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [join me in the trashcan](http://hiddenpolkadots.tumblr.com/)


End file.
